In the cool of the evening
by Willowsticks
Summary: This is meant as sort of a follow on to Isailaway's "Heat" (although not in the same vein)...My thanks goes to her for giving me the time to read through my story, comment on it and suggest some changes.
1. Chapter 1

She was watching him across the bar. She knew that getting him to talk would be difficult but this was ridiculous. He'd even resorted to alcohol, forsaking his usual tea for something stronger. It was so out of character that she had originally hoped that it had been to give him some dutch courage but as time ticked by that seemed less and less likely.

He was already on his third beer and was definitely trying not to look at her, instead pretending to immerse himself in the conversation that Dwayne and Fidel were having. Unfortunately this particular conversation (like every other involving Dwayne) was about the most recent woman he'd been out with – something that Richard didn't find remotely interesting. Nevertheless he um'd and ah'd at all the right moments of the conversation and prayed to God that no one would notice that he wasn't listening.

He took a deep breath tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. Sighing, he went to shake his head in an effort to rid himself of his thoughts before stopping mid action. He didn't want to draw attention to himself. He could still feel his cheeks burning from the exhilaration of earlier and even if it wasn't visible to his colleagues he knew that it wouldn't take much to bring it back. He would never be able to find suitable answers to their questions – so best to hide the blush if possible...

He was trying desperately not to think of the afternoon's events. Or rather he was trying desperately not to think of the conversation he would have to have with Camille at some point because of the afternoon's events. Oh God. He wanted to put his head in his hands but managed to restrain himself.

When he had said yes to discussing their relationship earlier he hadn't been thinking properly. He still had her taste in his mouth, the touch of her skin on his fingertips and her scent surrounding him. Earlier he had been intoxicated by her. But now? Now he was terrified.

So he nodded to Dwayne when he offered up another drink, even though he hadn't really wanted one, and settled himself in for the evening.

He had no idea why they even had to talk anyway. Things were fine as they were, weren't they? A little awkward perhaps but that's how he generally was around her, it wasn't anything he couldn't deal with. Besides, not talking hadn't had any adverse effects so far –in fact things had worked out in his favour. He hadn't felt the need to talk through anything after their first liaison and had been rewarded for it by Camille initiating the second. All he'd done was be his same self – well alright, he had been a little different towards her. He had found himself smiling at her more, and she had seemed to like that. But, he honestly didn't think that he had changed his manner towards her all that much in the intervening week after the first hour they had spent together in the office.

He was still wracking his brains trying to work out what had made her bundle him into the cells earlier that afternoon when his hand went instinctively to his neck to loosen his tie. Without thinking about it he looked up at her and caught her watching him with a familiar expression on her face...he quickly cast his eyes back down again. Surely it couldn't be the tie, could it? No, it definitely wasn't the tie, the notion was ridiculous. But if it wasn't that, then what was it? He was under no illusions about the way he looked, she was gorgeous and he was, well decidedly more average than that. He was also struggling to believe that she actually wanted to be with him for who he was.

Perhaps she was bored. Or hormonal. Or both. He'd read that women in their 30s often had a vastly higher sex drive than men. Yes, that was probably it. Happy with the conclusion he had just come to regarding their relationship he settled back into his chair, pleased that there was now no need to discuss anything. Hormones. Yes that was definitely it. He could imagine the embarrassing conversation he'd just been saved from about how "she was sorry and how it couldn't happen again, it was a one off (well alright then, a two off), she'd just needed to scatch an itch, blah blah blah."

With a sigh he pushed all thoughts relating to Camille and his tie out of his mind, picked up his drink and forced himself to concentrate on Dwayne and Fidel again. At least he still had his beer, even if Camille wasn't interested in him.


	2. Chapter 2

The fifth beer he realised was probably the one he should have stopped at. He had never been very good with alcohol and the heat meant that his tolerance level was lower than usual. After the sixth he realised that he would need to leave the sanctity of the table in order to go to the bathroom. He glanced over at Camille, God, she was beautiful, but she also, thankfully, wasn't looking in his direction so he made a break for it and slid away. He was swaying slightly on the way back to his chair when he felt the familiar touch of her skin on his as she put a hand on his arm.

"Don't you think you've had enough, _Sir_?" Camille's voice was glacial, the last word veering dangerously close to insubordination as they were still in earshot of the rest of the team. In his addled state he wondered what reason she could possibly have for being cold towards him, and answered her in the same tone – _well two can play at that game - _he thought.

"Yes probably," was his terse reply. "Although don't you think that should be my decision?"

She was already steering him out of the bar, indicating excuses to the others, insinuating that he had had one too many and that she was going to have to take him home. Before he knew it they were out and on to the street; the team thankfully hadn't given them a second look assuming and being rightly vindicated that they were either having another fight or about to.

"If I'd left it to your decision, you would still be downing beer like it was water. You would have woken up tomorrow with a much deserved hangover and you would have blamed me for not stopping you. So with you, as always, I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't."

"What is that supposed to mean and what about my bloody jacket?" He was reverting to type, bickering and changing the subject in order to try and manipulate the conversation away from the inevitable. He was also lamenting the fact that half of his suit was hanging on the back of his chair in Catherine's bar. He only hoped that she would put it aside for him. Although knowing Catherine, she would probably give it to a charity shop in an effort to try to get him to loosen up a little more.

"Nothing." She hadn't fallen for it. She took a deep breath and took the bull by the horns..." I thought we decided earlier that we needed to talk," Camille continued, weaving him in and out of other, more stereotypical couples on the street.

He tried to be nonchalant and failed miserably, "Oh did we? I'd forgotten." Playing it cool was not his thing.

Her jaw tightened at this and she narrowed her eyes, swallowing her anger and quickening their pace. "You know we did. Is this why you have been ignoring me all evening?"

"I haven't been ignoring you."

"Really? You haven't been able to look me in the eye since we met up with the others. You know damn well that we need to talk, and you still came out with the boys for a drink. Why?

"Because we're a team. Why are you angry with me?"

"I'm not angry with you", she was hissing her answers at him now.

He was drunk and although he wasn't at the stage where he was slurring his words just yet the alcohol had given him the confidence to be frank with her.

"You are angry with me. You're always bloody angry with me. I never know what I do wrong, but it's always something to annoy you. You make me feel so..." He trailed off.

"So what?" She spat out the words then paused, knowing that he wasn't going to finish his sentence but giving him time to do it anyway before continuing their walk in silence. After a while she said "I'm not angry with you."

Her voice was softer now. She had managed to steer him away from the main strip of bars and on to the beach where their pace had slowed.

"I'm just frustrated. I know that you find it difficult to talk about anything remotely personal but even by your standards you must agree that ignoring me all evening is childish?"

"I wasn't ignoring you and I don't see why you think I'm being childish? We spend lots of time alone together in the car or at the station; we could easily have talked about this tomorrow or any other time. All I wanted to do was have a drink and relax a little. We solved a case for Christ's sake!"

It was both a lie and a bad excuse. He knew it and she knew it, but she needed to keep him calm for this, so Camille chose to let him get away with it.

"Fine. But can't you see from my point of view that it looks as if you don't want to acknowledge that this afternoon even happened. Do you know how that makes me feel Richard? It shouldn't be this hard to get someone to talk about their feelings but you've spent the entire night acting like I don't exist."

They had stopped walking now.

"I'm sorry." The apology was sincere in tone but he still hadn't looked at her.

"Why are you ignoring me? What's wrong with me?

"I'm not ignoring you, present tense. I ignored you this evening, past tense, and I've already apologised for that." She huffed and shook her head at that but was slightly relieved that he was a little like his old self, she hadn't much liked the teenage version of Richard she had seen earlier in the evening – not that the usual one was much of an improvement.

"And why would you think that anything was wrong with you?" He was looking directly at her now, frowning. This was not the conversation he had imagined at the bar.

It was her turn to look at the sand. Her voice was quiet.

"Richard, I don't have a good track record with men. Why do you think I went undercover in the first place? There's never been anyone waiting for me at home, never anyone I cared about enough to ensure that I even wanted to come home. And with you...I don't know...I felt, I feel different. You make me feel different. You are so unlike anyone I've ever met. You are pedantic and exacting and smug a lot of the time..."

"Oh great, thank you."

"I said _most_ of the time. But then you decide to let me in and you're sweet and kind and funny and decent. You're the most decent man I've ever met, and something between us changes. Surely you must have felt it? I kept thinking that I was imagining things, but then, well you know...we got together and I just can't believe that you are the type of man to let that happen if it didn't mean anything. Or maybe you are. Maybe you are exactly the same as everyone else.

"What on earth makes you think that?" He had moved closer now, standing in front of her, scarcely allowing himself to believe that she might actually be interested in him.

"Because you don't want to talk. You just want to pretend that it never happened and carry on like before."

"I.." He stopped. It was an irrefutable fact because it was true. He had been happy with how things had been. He hadn't wanted to rock the boat or cause any problems within the team. But now? What was he meant to do now that she had given him hope?

"You can't even answer me Richard. Even after I've told you..." She shook her head sadly and turned to walk home.


	3. Chapter 3

She had gone about five steps when she heard him behind her.

"Please don't go. Camille?"

She stopped and turned again, waiting for him to speak. He seemed to know what was required of him but had no idea how to continue.

"I...um...I don't know what to say"

"Why not?"

He had to try and push her away, make her realise that he wasn't right for her, that there was someone better out there for her – younger, more attractive, more fun. At least if she still wanted him after he done that, then he'd know her feelings towards him for sure. And if she didn't? Well then, he'd go back to his boring life. His "monastic cell" as she had rightly called it.

He took a deep breath then ploughed straight in with his customary bluntness, "Because all the evidence points to the fact that we aren't right for each other."

She looked at him and shook her head in disbelief.

"Camille , we're even arguing now, that's not right, that's not how couples should be. I obviously make you upset."

"And you know how couples should be, do you?"

"Well no, clearly I'm not in the best position to lecture anyone on the basis for a good relationship but it can't be good can it?"

She took her time to answer.

"Richard, just for a second put aside the supposed empirical evidence of what you think makes a good relationship and tell me how you feel. How do I make you feel?"

He was looking at her now and it was beginning to dawn on that maybe, just maybe there was a chance that she might be interested after all...

She held his gaze, willing him to say something...anything.

He chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his bottom lip for a moment before answering. "Annoyed, mainly,"

Well perhaps not anything. She looked as though she was going to explode then saw his raised hand hovering in the air silently asking her for time and decided to hold her tongue.

"You never let me finish." He looked exasperated. "And frustrated, like nothing I do makes you happy." He paused again, "and that's all I want to do Camille." He was stumbling a little now, "I just...I just want to make you happy. But I always seem to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing which only reinforces the fact that I'm useless. Or at least useless to you."

She waited for more, there had to be more. He pressed on, the drink had loosened his tongue, making it easier for him to speak to her.

"And then sometimes, you smile at me and I feel...I feel like I can't breathe or that my heart is bursting, and I know that's not true because that's impossible but it doesn't make it feel any less real. And this afternoon was amazing, but you're right I don't want to talk about it because I don't want you to tell me that it was a mistake and it can't happen again. But at the same time I don't know how it can happen again."

She cut him off, "Just this afternoon?"

"What?"

"Was it only this afternoon that was amazing?" She had taken a step closer to him. Her smile was playful. She was close enough to touch him and her right hand was now caressing the underside of his tie, her thumb stroking the knot, while her left was fingering the buttons beneath it.

He gave her his usual shy smile, the one that she loved so much. "No...the first time was pretty good too..."

"Only pretty good?"

"Well you know, it could have been better..." he earned himself a punch from her for that. "Ow. I just meant that perhaps you were wearing too many clothes." He was being playful now too, the tension seemed to have evaporated between them. He reached for her hands entwining his fingers through hers before bringing them down to her side.

He had moved closer to her still and tilted his forehead forward so that it touched hers. He was no longer holding both her hands but had brought his left to her cheek, cupping her face gently. He pulled her towards him closing the final few inches between them and grazed her lips with his, then broke away. He was about to kiss her again when Camille broke the tension.

"Richard?"

"Hmmmmm."

"We still haven't discussed anything."

"Ah." He frowned a little with impatience - surely there couldn't be more talking? Humouring her, he took a step back, keeping hold of her right hand. To her amazement he sat himself down cross-legged on the sand. "Come on then."

"What are you doing?"

"Well I'm guessing this is going to be quite a long conversation so all in all this is probably the best place to do it."

"But you're on the sand. You hate the sand."

"Ah, but I'm also pretty drunk Camille. You should probably take advantage of that fact." He raised one eyebrow quickly and was grinning at her now, patting the sand next to him with his free hand.

It was true. He was slightly drunk. She hadn't realised before but perhaps this could work to her advantage. He pulled her down next to him where she pulled her legs up towards her body and turned her face towards him.

"So, what do we do...?"

He mimicked her question.

"So, what do we do?"

They sat in silence for a while staring out to sea, watching the moonlight illuminate the expanse of water in front of them. Richard looked at her.

"Pros and Cons?" The look on his face told her that he didn't think she was going to go for it.

She scoffed. "Seriously?" Don't you think we amount to more than pros and cons on a list?"

"Well if it's any consolation I'm sure that the pros would have vastly outweighed the cons anyway." He paused. "Have you got any better ideas?"

She was staring out to sea again. She sighed, and took her time with her answer "Perhaps we just take it slow and keep it between the two of us. Just for now. I don't want to rush you, I don't want to rush either of us."

She risked a sideways glance at him and could see that he had copied her posture by drawing up both this knees to his chest, circling them with his arms. He was frowning slightly and his chin was set. "So you want us to sneak around." He emphasized the last two words to show his distaste for the Americanism.

"I didn't say that."

"No. But that's what you implied." His head fell forward and he ran his right hand through his hair. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at lying Camille."

"I'm not asking you to lie Richard. Just to keep a secret for a little while."

He nodded then dropped his hand to the ground and drew patterns in the sand in silence. They swirled slightly in front of his eyes. The alcohol was beginning to have more of an effect on him than he realised.

The silence worried Camille slightly. She didn't want to push him but she needed to keep him focused.

Suddenly he huffed with laughter. Camille thought it was tinged with sadness which caught her attention. She gave him a quizzical look and he shook his head and gave a one word answer by way of explanation. "Decent?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Decent was the best adjective you could come up with to describe me?" He was shaking his head again.

"And what's wrong with decent?"

"Nothing I suppose if I grew up in the 1940s."

The sudden realisation dawned on her. He had already been over thinking what she had said and he was hurt. She couldn't believe that he had been hurt by the one word that she had used to try and tell him that she loved him.

"Is that's what's bothering you? Age? Richard I don't care. There's seven years between us, so what!"

"I care Camille! And it's not just the age thing. You are so beautiful and fun and so full of life and I just feel ridiculously old and dull next to you. I mean look at me. Can you imagine introducing me to any of your friends in Paris?"

"I don't give a damn about what my friends think about you. I know you. I know who you are and I know you make me happy." She was kneeling next to him now. "That's what you wanted isn't it? To make me happy?" She put her hand over his and slipped her fingers under his palm.

He nodded and thought about that. "Do I really?"

"What?"

"Make you happy?"

She smiled shyly. "Yes, more than anyone else ever has."

He thought about this for a little while, about how hard she was fighting for them to be together, how she was ignoring all of his attempts to try and push her away, how she must genuinely want him. Eventually he returned her shy smile and nodded.

"Ok."

"Ok?"

He shrugged rebelliously. "Ok."

Her smile became broader as she went to kiss him. It was halting at first until he responded by putting a hand on the back of her neck, his fingers winding up into her hair, drawing her to him. She moved so that she was straddling him, deepening their kiss, wrapping his tie around her fingers, using it to pull him in to her still further. She only broke their kiss for a moment when she gently slid the knot out of the material until it hung loose around his neck, and draped it around her own. Then leaning in to him with her hands on his chest, she undid the first two buttons on his shirt, and trailed her thumb over his adam's apple lost in her own thoughts for a moment. She looked up from her task to find Richard studying her face intently. She smiled shyly at him before her lips found his again. Then, gripping the open placket on his shirt, she pushed him on to the sand.

Richard could feel himself lose control of his reason, he was getting used to the signs after all. Her smell, her taste, the way she felt, it all conspired to render him senseless to everything around him that wasn't her. He longed for the feel of her bare skin on his, but it was the tie that had pushed him over the edge. He'd nearly lost it completely when she had slid it around her own neck. He found the idea of her wearing his clothes ridiculously erotic, given that they had barely touched during the course of their relationship. He knew that if she ever wore one of his shirts he wouldn't be able to be held accountable for his actions. He also knew that the shirt would be ruined, the separated buttons forever lost under furniture and floorboards. The thought of her naked except for his work shirt was too much to bear, he groaned into her mouth and was about to gather Camille into his arms and roll her on to her back, to press himself closer to her, when he felt the ground shift beneath him. The feeling brought him to his senses somewhat when he realised with a jolt where they were. A public beach. If they got caught, here and now, that would be the end of it. He would be sent home in disgrace and he would very likely never see her again.

He gently pushed her back and she sensed the change in his mood. She put her hands either side of his head in the sand and leant forward so that their faces were still close. He could feel the outline of her body against his, knew how much he wanted her and his will-power very nearly crumbled.

But he knew what he wanted this time, and it wasn't a fast fumbled dalliance on the beach. He wanted to take her to bed, to prove to her that she meant more to him than that. He stroked her face with the back of his fingers and teased,

"Camille, I'm drunk but I'm not that drunk. I still know where I am."

She pouted. "Pity. How drunk do you need to be for that?"

"Mmmmm, seven or eight ...you should have left me in the bar for a little longer..."

She giggled, rolled off him and lay her head on his chest, his arm holding her close. He kissed her temple and they lay looking at the stars.

It was easier to talk this way, lying down. He didn't have to look at her. He felt he could be more open without her gaze on his face. He continued to look up at the dotted expanse of black and tried to get control of himself. When he finally felt the last vestiges of his lust disappear he realised that for all of their earlier honestly, he still had to make her understand that it was all or nothing with him.

His question, when it came sounded typically awkward. "You, erm, you won't get cold feet will you?"

She snuggled in closer to him and replied "no I'm fine, but if you're cold then we can go inside if you like."

"I'm sorry?" His body involuntarily stiffened with the confusion caused by her statement. Why was she trying to change the subject?

"If you're cold, we can go inside." She repeated her last sentence slightly slower, thought he hadn't heard her properly.

Was she joking? He tried again. "No, Camille...cold feet about us."

He risked glancing over at her and saw that she had furrowed her brow, realised that she didn't understand the idiom. Bloody language barriers.

He rolled over onto his side. He was loathed to look at her, it made things so much harder, but knew that if he didn't explain it to her like this she would think that he was mocking her.

He tried again. "Cold Feet. You know...changing your mind...about us. I suppose I'm asking if you're in it for the long haul." Oh please God let her understand that one.

She didn't answer, knew already that one wasn't expected of her yet and didn't want to break his train of thought. Instead she gave a half little nod, indicating for him to continue. "It's just" he was stumbling over his words again "I don't think I could stay here if that happened. I mean I'm happy for us not to tell anyone and just take our time to find our feet and all that, but I don't think I could go back to seeing you out on dates again. With other men"

"Richard Poole, are you trying to tell me that you would be jealous?" Her voice was gently teasing.

"Perhaps." There was a pause, then a clarification. "Well yes, actually I know I would be. Very much so." He paused, debating with himself as to whether to go on, whether to tell her. "Camille, I've wanted you for so long, pretty much the first time I ever saw you. Even when you were sobbing on my bed I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen", she giggled at this. "But the point is I never thought that I would be able to have you which is why it was bearable...watching you on dates. It didn't matter who you were with then because I knew, or I thought I knew, I never had a chance. But now...I just couldn't...it would hurt too..." He gave up on his explanation, hoping that he had said enough. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." Her voice had lost its teasing element now. "I feel the same about you, you know."

"About the jealousy or the wanting from the beginning?"

"The jealousy mainly. The other stuff crept up on me a bit later."

Her candidness made him chuckle as he remembered her frustration with him when they first met.

She continued. "But you have to trust me."

He kissed her again and said haltingly "I do."

They were looking at the stars again. The silence was back between them but it was comfortable this time. Too comfortable. After a while he could feel Camille relax as her body prepared for sleep. He stroked her arm.

"Camille?"

"Mmmmmm."

"We can't sleep here. Come on." She looked at him, her eyelids were already heavy but she knew he was right. The sand was cold and a bed would certainly be softer - his bed hopefully, if he would ever get up the courage to ask her to come home with him. He made to get up, and once he was standing helped her to her feet.

They stood looking at each other and to her surprise Richard actually spoke first. "Do you want something to eat? I can cook..."

She raised an eyebrow at him and he had the grace to look a little sheepish at the forwardness of his invitation. They both knew it was too late to eat. She took his hand. "Perhaps you could cook for me tomorrow. I'll hold you to that though, I've always wondered if you were any good in the kitchen..."

Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrow at her. It hadn't been an obvious euphemism, but it hung between them, an unspoken promise of things to come. It was enough to embarrass her for a moment with a gasp before she giggled. To his mind it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

He brought her close, to kiss her one last time and said "well, I'd quite like to take you to bed tonight. But I suppose we could find out about the kitchen tomorrow if you want." She giggled again as he lead her along the beach back to his house.

Once again my thanks to Isailaway who should take credit for the language joke - I only hope I did it justice!


End file.
